


Inevitable

by NoPondInTheForest



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Post-Episode: s02e04 The Girl in the Fireplace, Romance, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-04 21:17:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12779700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoPondInTheForest/pseuds/NoPondInTheForest
Summary: It's bound to happen, there's no way around it. So why fight it any longer?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I read a wonderful soulmark AU recently, and afterward I couldn't stop thinking about what the Time Lord Doctor might do if he were given unequivocal proof that Rose is his soulmate; how that would conflict with his myriad reasons why they can't be together romantically. I had to pause on my other projects and write it to get it to leave me alone. Hope you enjoy. :)
> 
> (For those who care, I AM currently working on the next installment of Consequences series- hoping to finish it by the end of this month!)

 

Rose is asleep.

Her breaths are short and uneven and her body twitches restlessly under the blankets, but that's what convinces him. There's no false serenity constructed to put him off, to convince him to save this visit till morning.

The Doctor's heart sinks.

Patience has never exactly been one of his strengths, but right now, he'd love to find even the finest strand of it to latch onto. Blast it all, he needs to talk to her, craves the assurance that things are fine between them. That the status quo has indeed been maintained, in spite of an unconventionally broken mirror. That, despite Mickey's chastising gaze and ominous warning, no resultant _bad luck_ has already set in.

He can't wake her, though. Not when all he wants is a little chat, to feel her out.

He can't risk having this turn into a _conversation._

But now that he's sure she's unaware, will never know that he's poking his head into her room like a fretting parent (or a stalker), he gives in to the urge to step inside. Just one step. Far enough to close the door, let his eyes adjust to the spectral light. It's much warmer in here, silent but for Rose's quiet breathing, and the sweet scent of her hangs heavy enough to taste. It's enticing enough, all on its own-- but then, as their minds brush, reality fades in the wake of the shudder that crawls straight up his spine. 

As always, their subtle mental connection is electric and involuntary, the product of proximity and pheromones. His telepathy is heightened in the dark quiet, and he can feel her essence clearly. Tonight, with Reinette's mind as fresh comparison, he finds Rose's more attractive than ever- her warmth and heart and empathy, her pretty (if naive) hopes. She is fresh and white and sweet, so much so that the deliberate, dark mark upon her, the one that swirls like infinity and smells of ash, looks like a mistake. 

His aura _stains_ her. 

He should hate that.

Instead, it entices and scares him in equal measure. It makes him too possessive, especially when they're around other humans, most of whom lack the mind-ability to see that she's taken, even if she isn't bonded. Well, married. With humans it's all about the tangible, like rings worn on certain fingers, a custom he'll happily buy into if-

His jaw clenches as he cuts the thought off. No, he won't. He won't be buying any rings because there will be no bonding, in spite of the meddling, matchmaking universe.

And this, right here, is why he normally goes nowhere near her bedroom in the middle of the night.

 _Thanks a lot, Rickey,_ he thinks, though he is mostly disgusted with himself. Who's really the idiot here? The person giving out stupid advice, or the person standing around in the dark, taking it?

Inviting Mickey on board had never been his plan, though the Sarah Jane spiral he was in made him readily agree to the man's request. Seeing his former companion, already withering, made the need for a buffer between him and Rose clearer than ever. A means to sort of...stagnate things.

Not that Rose pushes his boundaries. Comes right up to them, yes, but she never presumes to test them, even if she might not understand or agree with their purpose. They're his, and she respects them. She's wonderful like that.

The Doctor, for his part, straddles his own metaphorical fence frequently- has even, on several memorable occasions, gone so far as to dangle down the opposite side and kick his toes in the grass.

It's not her that needs stagnating. She's so much stronger than him.

So much better than him.

And there it is; that bloody barricade's sturdiest support. Sturdy, because it's the only spot that isn't selfish, that's not about him and his feelings.

With a stab of heartache, the Doctor tips his head back against the door. She's better than him and he's proving it again right now. Proved it all day long today, mucking about with another woman, kissing her because he can't kiss Rose. He flirted, charmed, led Reinette on with hardly a qualm, at least until she barged into his head to discover it full of another blonde who was not her. Then guilt showed up, enough to offer her a trip, guilt which increased one-hundred fold after she died waiting for him. 

He peers down his nose to take in the back of Rose's tousled head, swallowing painfully. All that guilt over Reinette's feelings, and till now, scarcely any for Rose's. Because Rose had let it slide. Until Mickey's suggestion otherwise, he's been (mostly) sure she's fine. 

Fine.

Like a codependent to his narcissism.

All at once, it occurs to him that he's lucky she's sleeping. What if... what if he'd poked his head in to find her awake and upset? If his actions today did indeed cause Rose (lovely, patient, forgiving Rose) to... -to be less than thrilled with him in any way- what is he supposed to do about it? Apologise? Own up to being, as Mickey so eloquently put it, 'the Lord of all prats'?

Much as he might want to, the Doctor _can't._ Owning up to hurting her means owning up to why he hurt her. Means owning up to certain feelings, which for so long have lurked between them like a hulking beast, near impossible to ignore. 

Rose stirs and he jumps, eyeing her intently as she rolls onto her back, arms flopping on top of the blankets. She doesn't wake. And, though his hearts pound at the close call, he isn't smart enough to leave. He stares instead, eyes tracing the newly revealed outline of her profile. Her sweet, full, slightly parted lips. 

And he doesn't look away until the old memory rips through him like fire, the way mouths and minds joined in one heated exchange, giving and taking, and marking. It's been months since then, no wonder he's aching for follow-up, and... _blimey, he is bloody stupid._

It is past time for him to go.

He grapples back for the doorknob and tugs it, until faint light from the corridor trickles in along with a breath of much-needed fresh air. 

As he closes his eyes and inhales, he gives himself a little grace. It wasn't as if he meant to fall in love with his companion. He'd truly believed he didn't even have it in him. All the places he's been, all the people he's met? Geniuses and beauties and queens, nine-hundred-three years worth, and he goes on fine without any of them. 

His fall, when it happened, was a heady, ungraceful plummet, too intense to long deny it, but that didn't mean he understood it. A laugh, a smile, a twinkling glance his way, and what was wrong with him, that he couldn't keep his blood pressure from rising?

In the end, he figured it was less something wrong with him and more that everything was right about her. She is the sort of world he's never dreamed of discovering; she fills his life with laughter and meaning and fascinates him at every turn. She makes his itchy wandering feet go numb, because she's his home. 

Snorting, he rolls his eyes. There he goes again, introspections on this subject veering off, as they invariably did, into purple poetry; its singular focus on himself again, the joys that he could be reaping if they-

He stiffens, abruptly stifles the thought.

They _can't._

_(Time to go, Doctor. Now. Go go go go go go go.)_

But somehow, his traitorous feet carry him all the way to her bedside. And what he sees simultaneously strengthens that long-held conviction, and shreds it.

Blotchy cheeks, eyelids swollen and delicate. Rose's lashes fan out in wet, dark clumps, and oh god, oh no. She's been crying. 

_He's_ made her cry.

It is a punch to the gut. 

Reeling, he gazes at her in horror as his head churns out one recent sin after another. 

Was it the five-and-a-half hours that did it? She thinks he nearly abandoned her? Ohhhh...does she...could she know, somehow, that he'd kissed another woman? He hasn't wanted to think about it, but the unspoken, yet clear understanding between them would mean his actions could be construed as cheating. Although, even if she doesn't know about the kiss, how must she have felt on learning he'd invited Reinette to join them? Just because Rose doesn't know about the pairing-marks doesn't mean she is unaware of the mutual regard/commitment that precipitated them. Quite the opposite, actually. 

Pleas for forgiveness climb up his throat. Oh, he's got to fix this.

Instead, he runs.

Down this corridor and that one, trainers thumping in the quiet, he makes turn after deliberate turn, till he comes to a garden he's avoided since the start of the War. Sinking to his knees in the long red grass, he inhales, lets its spicy fragrance fill his nose. Looks around, watches the silvery leaves flicker in the breeze, and waits for it all to recriminate him. To remind him what sort of person he is, to remind him why he _can't._

But it falls flat, and a mantra from his school days floats into his mind.

_You needn't fear being entrapped with a kiss, if you've not given it the power to mark and bind._

Oh, he had, he'd given that kiss so much power. Poured everything he shouldn't feel into it, because she was human and mind-blind and dying, and he has always been an opportunist. He'd believed could save her, kiss her, and get away with it scot-free. She wouldn't even remember. 

One morning soon after New Earth she'd wandered into the kitchen, brand-new telepathic presence marked with his name, and he discovered he was only correct about most of that.

Pair-marks are common amongst telepathic races. Gallifreyans, with their extended lifespans, saw them as a gift of Time. Of the thread of your future you are granted no glimpses, but She kindly tells you whom you'd best twine it with. Yet those of the Doctor's rank saw it differently. They were Lords of Time, to be manipulated by it as little as possible. And this, unlike most of Rassilon's tenets, made sense to the Doctor. A being in possession of immense power must remain master of it.

But power isn't the problem here. The Doctor trusts Rose. It's just, she's so human, and things like telepathy, pairing-marks...they are so very alien. And while she is as committed to their relationship as he is, there's no chance she understands what a true connection with him means. Body, soul, mind. Not to mention, it's permanent. The line they haven't crossed is literally the point of no return.

'You can spend the rest of your life with me, but I can't spend mine with you,' he'd told her. If they do this, it will be Rose locked into his lifespan, not the other way around. How can he ask her for that? How can he condemn her to such a life, living on and on with no hand to hold but his blood-stained own, eventually losing every other person that she loves? 

He can't ask that. But he's been beyond arrogant, thinking he could keep from getting too close. Believing he could thwart Time, keep his hands off the one She's destined as his, all the while having that one within easy touching distance.

He can't do this anymore.

He'll... he'll have to take her home. Should have taken her home long ago.

His burning eyes clench shut and he makes himself picture it, to force himself to try to get used to the idea. Throwing the lever as Rose stands outside, idly chatting with her mum till the TARDIS shocks her with its groan, her heartbreak as she watches it fade-

It's like drinking poison, and the Doctor doesn't get through it once before he doubles over in agony.

The platonic veneer on their relationship does nothing to hide the fact that they are completely enmeshed; parting will break them both. If only his love were unrequited. His own pain, that he can handle. But Rose loves him. He can't understand why, but she does. She sees him, she gets him, she forgives his flaws and his sins and he's pretty sure she thinks his quirks are adorable. She's accepted his mark and marked him in return.

She makes him want to be a better person, for her. 

The Doctor stills, thinks about that for a minute.

He _is_ better. 

As if determined to counter the realisation, his eyes pop open, absorb his surroundings. This garden isn't Gallifrey, it's an echo of it. His planet no longer exists, because of him.

_He's terrible for her._

But... he has to admit he's less terrible now. Maybe his terribleness is not the static, immutable fact he's seen it as. Maybe it has degrees, maybe it's something he can continue to work on. And isn't he certainly motivated enough?

Though recently he's lost ground in this fight. He's made Rose cry.

Shifting to sit cross-legged, he breaks off several strands of grass, twisting them round and round his fingers as he considers how he can turn things around. No more games. No more mixed signals, pulling her close one day only to lash out the next, like a trapped animal. 

No more stagnating.

He's got no choice, does he? All this fighting he's done; no more than a useless struggle against the inevitable.

And just like that, it's all over.

A load slips from his shoulders as he accepts his fate, and he exhales a silent, disbelieving laugh. His toes tingle, his throat is tight, and he wants to laugh some more and cry, and run and crawl into her bed and tell her everything, now. He wants to make her happy, see her smile, hear her say she'll marry him as soon as possible. 

Maybe even in the morning. 

Well, soon as they drop off Mickey.

No, this can't be as bad an idea as he's feared, if he feels so incredibly good about it.

Yet, the Doctor's got enough sense left to recall that it's not quite so simple. Common as it is in a Disney plotline, in real life, humans don't usually leap from friendship to wedlock in a single day. 

He's got quite a lot of explaining to do. And, depending on how Rose takes the whole pairing-mark, predestination, very alien-to-her way that his species choose a mate, he might even have to...wait. Take it slow. 

And.

Before he tells her about any of that, he owes her one big, fat, apology.

The euphoria fades somewhat as nerves begin to take over. Peril awaits him, of the emotional sort, and up till now his M.O. for dealing with that is to run far, far away. He needs a plan. Or the start of one, at least.

Sighing, the Doctor pries himself up out of the grass without his usual energy, and heads for the corridor. He's tired- weary, even, his body demands rest. A bit of sleep is what he needs, and maybe then planning out what to say to Rose won't seem so overwhelming. He stretches and yawns. Blimey, battling oneself for months on end is exhausting.

At least the worst part is over.


	2. Chapter 2

The sand's grown cold and damp but the Doctor digs his toes in anyway, eyes fixed on the flicker of torch-fire a short distance away. Orihu's second sun has set, the day fading to a soft red on the horizon, and only a few laughing voices mar the late evening quiet. All of the planet's wiser natives have long since retired to bed.

Even Mickey's in bed and yes, at this point, the Doctor is willing to concede that he's definitely the wisest of the three of them. Good grief, how much longer is Rose going to make him wait?

Arms crossed, he leans back against the TARDIS. Indifferent, unbothered, he is only doing this to make sure she's safe- at least, that's what he plans to tell her, once she finds him out here.

Plans, plans, hadn't this day begun with a plan to tell her something else entirely? 

Something with no indifference accompanying it at all.

His eyes sting at the thought and he blinks, furiously. Stupid.

Coral-coloured sand, sparkling seas, enough hot sunshine to give her the tan of her dreams- it was meant to be a treat, this day. A gift. Rose adores warm beaches, but he very rarely pilots them to one. Not only does he hate trading his layers for swim trunks and a tee, it is always too hot, too sandy, too boring.

(Too dangerous. Rose-in-a-bikini might be the death of him.)

But since his epiphany last night, things have changed. (Well. Things _will._ ) He's decided he's embracing vulnerability, so the physical armor went willingly. Good outward display of inner change, he thought.

Only, things haven't yet changed in the slightest. Because Rose, in spite of sundress and bare feet and easy grin, has done an excellent job avoiding him all day, her lingering hurt like a wall he can't scale. 

Not that she isn't doing her best to hide it; she hasn't quit having fun or laughing or speaking to him, but it's there. Was there last evening as well, when he was too preoccupied to really notice, in the way she wouldn't quite meet his eye, or let him near enough to touch. 

It's understandable, more than justified, but it's also making things very difficult. His whole point in bringing her here was to apologise, to talk. He slumps under another pang of disappointment. It has thrown him, how badly he wants to talk, after steadfastly avoiding it for so long. But now that he's gotten out of his own stupid way, it's been all he can do to not blurt out his desires. 

And he would, if given half an opportunity. If Rose weren't so busy doing exactly what he'd done yesterday, soothing her sore heart with attention from others.

The Doctor unclenches his fists with effort, rubbing a careful thumb over the sore, half-moon indentations on his palms. It's been a struggle for hours, preventing his tumultuous feelings from boiling over outwardly, and he curses himself again for his own rubbish driving. How had he managed to land on the one festival day in the whole Orihuvian year?

Emptying his lungs, he kicks up a clod of sand, glances up at the towering black cliffs. That's when he spots her. Rose's silhouette, small and dark against a backdrop of greying sky, stands where the cliff juts out over the water.

His breath catches. What in the world...he'd warned her, earlier, that she could easily be injured by jumping from such a height. That (unlike the playful natives urging her to join them) she had no idea how to hit the water properly. 

She'd glared daggers at him for that and... oh, he really should've seen this coming.

He's got the TARDIS unlocked and open in an instant, and arcs the ship straight up there without bothering to close the door. 

As soon as it touches down he hurries her way, grass beneath his feet giving way to grit and smooth stone.

"Rose," he calls out, low, slowing as he comes up behind her. 

She doesn't turn but their connection flares to life, and he sucks a quick breath at the intensity of it. "'M fine, Doctor," she says calmly, and he can't tell if she's affected or not. "No need to panic. Just looking at the stars."

His eyes narrow doubtfully as he joins her. She's stripped down to her swimwear, her sundress dangling from fidgety hands. Overhead, stars have begun to peep out, soon the sky will be impressively aglitter. 

"Nice outfit for skygazing," he comments, noticing the goosepimples on her arms.

Rose snorts, lips twitching. Her eyes remain fixed upward and somehow, even though her mind's enjoined with his by mutual consent -enjoined by a sodding _pairing-link_ \- she's still managing to mostly ignore him.

He'd be thoroughly impressed if he wasn't so bloody _frustrated._

"Sooo," he drawls, edging closer. He's so utterly determined to get her to look at him that he gives his mouth free rein. "Are we doing this, or what?"

It wasn't at all what he intended to suggest, but when her gaze snaps his way there's no chance in the universe he's about to back down. 

"What?"

The Doctor inclines his head toward the sea. "Last chance, eh?"

Rose licks her lips, gaze skirting down to where his fingers have begun to hike his shirt up. It darts in shock to his eyes again. "You said I shouldn't do this. It's too dangerous."

"Yeah," he admits, maintaining eye contact as he strips off his tee and tosses it to the ground. "But it's different now."

"Different?"

"Yeah. Because I'm jumping with you."

He lines his toes on the cliff's edge, stares down into the dark sea below. The water is calm, its sheen like black silk in the moonlight. Small waves hit the sheer rock face with gentle splashes, warmth turning to mist in the chill air. It glitters and foams and beckons him. 

Small, pink-painted toenails align with his, and the Doctor takes Rose's hand, meets her eye. They stand together at the edge of a precipice, and there's no space to circle. No choice but to fall. 

He lifts his free hand, touches her face, and she shivers as he draws his thumb down her jawline. Shivers and hopes, though her frame is tight with a wariness that says she hardly dares believe.

It's his fault, that doubt. Self-directed fury boils up in him, so hot and strong that the old fear finally, _finally_ gives up its stranglehold on his throat. "Rose, you must know," he begins. "That I..."

He trails off as her whole body shudders, soft pink lips parting in shock, and all at once he's so determined to taste them that he hardly registers the tug on his hand. Then there's a rush of wind on his skin and his stomach drops, and he yelps in surprise as they plummet through the air.

Rose shrieks the whole way, but it carries a note of real glee, the sort he hasn't heard out of her in two days.

They hit the water like stones and it swallows them up, churning as he kicks his legs. They've fallen so far and plunged so deep that even he is gasping by the time they resurface, but somehow Rose finds breath enough to laugh.

"Rose _Tyler,_ " he says reproachfully, once he's able. "You could have broken bones from that!"

"But I don't," she shoots back, giggles fading to a grin as she bobs up and down. "And you're always sayin' how you love being surprised."

Part of him still wants to tell her off, but Rose is laughing at him again, eyes bright with genuine delight, and god, she's gorgeous. He shakes his head vigorously at her instead, grinning as water droplets fly and she shrieks. "Oi!"

His hand slips through the water, finding her wrist to wordlessly tug her closer. Rose puts her hands on his shoulders, and everything slows and quiets. Untethered, they float together in glimmering silence, and it feels like a dream. Like he's drowning. He loves her so much he can scarcely breathe. 

"You interrupted me, you know," he tells her quietly, eyes drinking her in. Starry light glints all around her like stolen vortex. "And it was very important."

Her eyebrows draw together, anxiety appearing in the lines between them. "I'm sure," she replies over-casually. "'Lean slightly forward, Rose, don't point your toes; as if I didn't already hear it from those other blokes earlier." She grins, looks toward shore. "Anyway, 's freezing out here, so don't you think we should be getting back-"

"This is practically bathwater," he interrupts, face scrunching. Then it hits him. "Oh. You're still upset with me."

Rose goes wide-eyed with surprise at his uncharacteristic directness. "No...I mean..." She shrugs. "I dunno. I was, I guess. I know you were trying to be nice by bringing us here, and I shouldn't have run off, but I... I just wanted to have a little fun." Rose bites her lip and looks down, and when she meets his gaze again, her eyes gleam with an odd mix of guilt and defiance. "Since yesterday really wasn't."

"Rose, I am so, so sorry-" he begins, but she cuts him off with a shake of her head.

"'S alright, I know you're sorry. Like I said, I know that's why you...why you did all this, today. An' it's fine, really." She begins to ease back, takes her hands off his shoulders. "I think... mostly it was just me, misunderstandin' things again. You were just trying to help her." 

"I made you feel like you weren't important," he states regretfully, taking hold of her forearm so she won't swim off. "That was terrible of me."

"It's not like you didn't come back," she argues. "Just, for awhile I was worried you wouldn't- but that wasn't fair, cos I had no reason not to trust you-"

"No, I made you feel like you weren't as important as the Madame," he clarifies, bravely. 

Rose swallows hard, lashes falling. "I'm not, though."

Her words slice into him like a knife, because he can tell right off she actually believes this. "Oi, that's not-"

"I mean," she goes on, over his protest, "'s like you said, she was critical to the timeline. And hey, let's be honest. She was amazing. Gorgeous, clever, brave. Easy to see why the King chose her."

She says 'King', but he hears 'Lord' loud and clear. "No, I didn't choose her. And I never meant to make you feel as if-"

He halts as the lie begins to exit his mouth, and gulps it back. "Truth is, I saw an opportunity to make you doubt what you meant to me, and I took it. And it was _wrong,_ " he tacks on quickly, seeing liquid hurt well up in her eyes. "Incredibly wrong."

Mouth tight, Rose glances away, blinking back tears. "That's...actually better than what I thought it was," she says, after a long pause. Then she looks at him again, her wet eyes dark and serious and determined. "Okay, if we're doing the honesty thing for once, I got somethin' to say. I'm not sure what I've done to make you feel the need to push me away, but whatever it is, I'm sorry. I don't- I don't mean to do it, an' I guess I figured you knew by now that I will never, ever push you into anything. I won't, I promise."

"I know," he whispers, lifting a dripping hand from the water to tuck a sodden strand of hair behind her ear. "You haven't pushed. It was all me. No matter how much logic and reason I've tried to apply to us -remembering who I am, the things I've done- it all sort of...fades away, every time I'm near you."

Rose's eyes are huge, like she can't believe what she's hearing, like she can't believe he's just admitted that out loud without immediately backtracking. So he stays quiet, holds the moment, all the while gazing at her with eyes that he hopes convey not only his sincerity, but the power of what he feels for her. 

"So while I may have admired Reinette, tried to fancy her a little, if you believed I loved her, Rose, you're wrong. I could never. Not when I'm already completely in l-"

With a little gasp, she presses warm, wet fingers to his mouth. "Shh. Doctor. You're not thinkin' straight, you don't want-"

Her words hardly penetrate. It's boiling out of him now, the confession, and whether in word or action it won't be held back. Roaring to life, it engulfs him; his head ducks, Rose's fingertips dragging from his lips to his cheek as his mouth finds hers.

Caught off guard, she gasps and he readjusts, angling his head to intensify a kiss that never even tried to be chaste. Rose relaxes, responding in kind as she melts against him, her arms circling his neck as his wind about her waist. Lips slide and chins scrape and Time trickles by, slow and molasses-rich, as they cling to each other, swirled up in stars and water and love. On it goes until the Doctor can't think and oh, he can't stop. Not when she tastes like this, like she finally, finally belongs to him.

At last Rose breaks the kiss with an audible inhale, turns her face away when he attempts to reignite it.

Dazed, he blinks his eyes open to take in her crimson cheeks and bee-stung lips; her pinched, reluctant expression. His stomach drops. "Rose?"

"'S not that I don't want this," she hastens to explain, and he sucks a relieved breath. "But I...I thought I understood, completely, why we shouldn't. You just said yourself, there's so many reasons."

The Doctor shifts back a little, tries to remember what she needs to know. It's difficult though- his plan to explain things had featured a relaxed, sunny beach-scape with Mickey nearby. Not this, all solitude and beauty and romance, on the heels of a dizzying snog session. His hearts pound and his lips tingle, and he badly wants to kiss her again.

His intent must've shown on his face, because Rose warns him off with a head-shake. "Doctor," she says gently. "We've got to talk. Why are you doing this?"

 _Because I love you_ pops to the tip of his tongue, just as he remembers her hand on his mouth to prevent him saying it earlier. Carding a hand through his hair, he reins himself in, fumbling for words that aren't quite so strong. "Well, it was either do this or take you home."

Rose stiffens under his grasp, looking absolutely horrified. "What?!"

He cringes. "I wouldn't have!" he assures, retracting it furiously. "I just meant- I came to a fork in the road, of sorts, last night. And let's just say 'keep this platonic forever' was not one of my options."

"O-kay," she replies slowly, like she needs him to elaborate.

"Sorry. It's just, it's complicated." He closes his eyes. "So complicated. Parts of it you may find quite hard to understand."

"Try me."

"You know how humans, some of them at least, believe there's just one person in the world meant for them? Their perfect match."

Rose takes hold of his left bicep, letting him tread water for both of them. "What, like a soulmate?"

He makes a face at her choice of word, but nods anyway. "What if I told you that for my people- well, for most telepathic races, really- that it is more than a pretty idea?"

Brow furrowing, Rose tries to follow. "So, you're saying what? There's more to it than just falling in love?"

"Yes, although that's the first step. But then there's... well, there's this thing that happens, in the brain's telepathic centre. A connection of sorts- well, of minds- can form." He lifts her hands, threads their fingers together. "Like this, except this is fully tangible. Mental connections... they're not quite physical, yet they're not so abstract as an emotional connection- oh, and speaking of, did you know that the Greeks even had names for the different sorts? Philia, that's companionable love, agape, eros..."

Rose taps his chest, smirking a little. "Doctor. Focus."

"Right. So, the mental link: a couple's compatibility largely plays into it, their potentials and timelines, and if it all shakes out right and they both consent, they'll form an irreversible telepathic integration. Which, scary as it might sound, is actually a necessity, especially with such a long-lived species as Gallifreyans, because a pair's timelines will be stretched or curtailed as need be in order to share an endpoint. It's referred to as, ehm, bonding." 

Pausing, the Doctor clears his throat. "It's essentially marriage. Only difference is the public ceremony. Oh! And I almost forgot to mention- there's no chance you'll choose the wrong person, because of the pairing-mark."

Rose, who has stared at him throughout his entire ramble, squeezes her eyes shut for a second. "The pairing-mark. Alright. And what's that, again?"

"Ah, it's a metaphysical mark, perceivable by telepaths. If a deep emotional connection is formed, followed by a physical connection, it can appear."

He waits for a response. Rose is quiet, solemn as her finger traces over the dark water. "Alright. Permanent mental connection, a shared lifespan?" Understanding and pain fill her eyes when he nods. "And a mark. You see those, sort of how I can see something if I'm imagining it?"

The Doctor grins, thrilled at how quickly she's catching on. So brilliant, as always.

"So." She takes a huge breath. "You're telling me all of this why, again? Is this part of the whole 'curse of the Time Lords' thing? Another reason we shouldn't be together, cos I can't ever be your soulmate? An' now you've decided that it doesn't matter, or-"

"Wait a mo', wait wait wait. You've misunderstood me, Rose. I'm telling you all this because you _are._ We've...we've marked each other."

She stares, disbelieving. "How?"

"When you were Bad Wolf. To take the vortex from your head, I...kissed you."

Rose looks as if she wants to pursue that, but then she blinks. Gapes. "That's what that is. I see it on you. I thought it was my imagination, but..."

"You see the mark? What- what's it look like?"

She considers him, squints, eyes going slightly unfocused. "It's like light," she says. "It shines like gold. It shines on you, and beneath it you're beautiful."

It takes him aback. Not the golden light bit, that's Rose all over. But how can the rest be true?

"I feel it too," she continues. "'S that normal? Cos when you're near me, it feels like...like you're mine." Her eyes narrow on him, suddenly suspicious. "Are we married?"

His brows jump up. "No. No, bonding has to be done deliberately. It's the pair-mark- having one feels that way to ensure bonding takes place. It's...it's like destiny, really. Not something that's meant to be fought. I've been a fool, Rose, thinking I could."

He says the last part softly, eyes soft and dark, hoping hers will darken too. Hoping this is the part where explanations end and he gets to kiss her again.

But Rose's jaw is worryingly tight. "Okay. So you want to be with me, because these marks say you should. But yesterday, you obviously felt very differently. You were determined this was never gonna happen. And now, what? You're doing it cos you think you have no choice?"

She's stiff, holding her breath- bracing herself, he realises with a frown. "Well, yeah. We can't go on like this, Rose. And I _can't_ take you home."

There's the sound of water splashing and all of a sudden, she's out of touching distance. Worse yet, she is fighting off tears. "That is so stupid, Doctor," she tells him, voice wavering. "I knew how I felt about you long before these marks happened and I wasn't gonna act on it. I knew even then, and truly understand now, that who you are, what you do out there, it's so much bigger than _us._ You have a whole universe of worlds to protect, people to meet, so many lives left to live...I'm happy just to be here, to be near you, to _love_ you, cos I know you can't do it on your own. And it's _enough._ "

He reaches for her, flinches when she moves away. "Rose, please-"

"Thing is, Doctor, you don't _have_ to do anything. We can't do this because some mark says to, when there's a million other reasons why you shouldn't." Her voice goes quiet, and her next words strike the killing blow. "Which means you _can_ take me home."

"What?" 

It's all he can say before his throat closes up. He wants to argue, shout at her, rage until the sky echoes. But his lungs collapse because Rose is crying again, just like last night, and he has no idea how everything's gone so wrong. 

"Not for good," she sniffs, wiping at her eyes. "Just for a little while, until you see things clearly again. You need to get some perspective. 'M sure that once you do, you'll be very glad you didn't- tie yourself to me. You belong to the universe, Doctor."

She turns away, begins swimming for shore without waiting for a response. Not that he has one to give her. He feels powerless; unable to do anything but bow to her will. Even if it rips him apart. 

Numb, he waits till the link breaks before he begins to follow. But he can't shake the heat of her mark on him. It burns, like the golden vortex she'd described it as. 

Maybe he's going mad.

It strikes him forcefully then- maybe Rose is right. Maybe...maybe it isn't even her mark at all. Maybe Time does own him, has marked him as Hers, long before the woman he loves got a chance.

As for his mark on Rose?

Maybe that's just to taunt him.

 

********

 

Of course he pleads with her later, plans to stall as much as possible, but less than a day passes by and he loses her her Mickey, after an accidental adventure in a gingerbread world.

He takes her home without prompting after that.

The one good thing that came of it, he supposes, is she wasn't there when the ghosts came. When he spectacularly mucked things up, nearly lost two universes and his own life in the process. 

(Thankfully, Mickey made a miraculous return in time to save his sorry skin.) 

"I was on the moon today," he says, unable to resist phoning her up afterwards.

"I knew it!"

"I met someone."

A pause. "You should ask her along."

No no no no no, that's the opposite of what he wants her to say. "Maybe."

It's so juvenile, but he wants her to be jealous. He wants to tell her how Martha came on to him, the lengths he'd had to go to to rebuff her advances. 

(I told her about you. That we were together.)

But he says nothing of it.

Not because he'd lied. 'Together' hardly begins to cover what they are to each other. In truth, he hated having to use a word that was so insufficient it hardly put Martha off.

'Wife', on the other hand...

But Rose is not his wife. Will never be. And worse, their version of together can never be as... as together as it once was, that more-than-friends closeness that was allowed only because it was never acknowledged. Because he's gone and acknowledged it, with words and lips and tongue, and there's no bloody way he'll ever be able to cuddle with her, or even share a sofa, and not burn to acknowledge it again. He doesn't know how he can indulge in her companionship and not long for the love, the intimacy he'd developed this sudden need for.

Only it's not a sudden need. If he's honest he's always wanted this, to share his life and travels with someone who'll stay, instead of hosting an endless parade of temporaries. Problem is, the only person he's ever wanted to stay with him forever deserves a far better future than _that._

He can't stand the idea of another temporary. "I'd rather come get you."

A long pause. "Are you- you're decided, then, on how things should be going forward?" Rose sounds hopeful, yet resigned. The Doctor thrills a little, taking it to mean she misses him as badly as he does her. 

But he can't lie. As much as his head might agree that the boundaries need to stand, recognises that Rose (in her unconscious brilliance) has essentially thwarted the universe and saved herself from him, his hearts are nowhere near trustworthy. 

"So," Rose says uncertainly, taking his silence as answer. "Just... let me know when you decide you're ready to come get me, okay?"

"Of course," he promises as he rings off, but he wants to laugh (or cry). There's that word again, "decide". Blimey, she must know why he's stayed away as long as he has, if he could simply choose for these feelings to go away-

But he's just stuck. How does that human saying go again- he can't live with her, can't live without her, and well, he's long since come to the conclusion that this is just the universe's newest way to torture him, stick him in this hellish limbo forev-

Decide.

Decide- or, the opposite of what he's been doing. Which is acting as if life just _happens_ to him, beyond his control. 

It's a dawning realisation he's inclined to contradict. Since when does he ever-- 

Ah. 

Since his last impossible choice. He lives everyday with its traumatic repercussions, with the black self-loathing born of it. 

He can't bear for things to go wrong with Rose, can't bear to hurt her. So he's been passing off the responsibility, like he's a victim of fate instead of lord of it.

And he's hurting her anyway. 

The heavens open up fully then. Rose doesn't want this separation, any more than he does. She thinks she's saving him from himself. She doesn't want to be his destiny.

Rose wants him to _choose_ her, because he loves and wants her, mark or no mark.

What an idiot he's been. The Doctor draws a shaky breath. It's a choice. His own decision, with pros and cons, and possible consequences, and definite blessings. Point is, he's in charge of it.

And just like that, he falls right out of the purgatory of his own making. 

His hands can't set the coordinates fast enough.

 

********

 

The pub is dimly lit and noisy, and the Doctor's eyes scan round it in desperation. A football game blares on the telly and blokes swarm around the bar, most tables are full, and he doesn't see her anywhere. Sure, Jackie's assured him Rose would be here, but his head's still lonely, he can't feel-

Wait. There? At a table in the far corner, he spies a head of familiar golden hair gleaming under a low-hung lamp, and- oh yes! that'd be Mickey sitting there too, along with another blonde he doesn't recognise. He sets off, bliss flooding him as the link finally lights up and Rose's gaze snaps his way, shocked but joyous. He beams. God, he's missed her.

Mickey sees him coming and, unknown blonde in tow, thoughtfully vacates the table before the Doctor arrives.

"This isn't destiny," he declares without preamble, dropping onto the chair beside her. "I don't even believe in destiny, Rose Tyler. And it isn't because of the mark."

"What's not?"

"Me, wanting to be with you. The mark is just, just a symptom of that. Like this," he takes her hand, presses it hard to his thundering hearts, "is a symptom. Or the fact that I'm happy, actually happy, as long as you're with me, even if we're in prison or this nasty old pub. Or the fact that I'll do anything if the reward is one of your smiles. It's not up to the universe, or to fate," he goes on quietly. "I choose you, Rose, because I love you."

Her brow crinkles and she's got tears in her eyes again, but before he can panic her lips land on his, sweet and warm and decisive. 

The Doctor kisses back hungrily, one hand curling round the back of her neck, and as his eyes slam shut he catches the start of their timelines entwining. "Every life I've got left, Rose Tyler," he murmurs as he breaks the kiss, nuzzling his nose to hers. "I'd love to spend with you. If you want."

Beaming, Rose tugs him in for another snog that is interrupted too soon by an ecstatic screech. 

"Oh my lord, Rose, you are such a liar! I knew you were doin' more'n just travelin' with this Doctor of yours!" 

Rose reluctantly draws back from the Doctor, and they smile at each other for a moment before looking up at Mickey and the young woman who'd spoken. "I wasn't lyin', Shareen," says Rose. "This..." She gives the Doctor a flirtatious, sidelong look. "...is very new."

"Sure it is." Sharing a glance with Mickey, Shareen folds her arms, purses her bright red lips, and studies them with amused interest. "And next you'll be tellin' us he didn't just propose to ya!"

Rose sucks a breath. "Did you?" she asks him.

He smiles. "Yeah."

He gets a brilliant smile for that, his favourite one, it's a sight for sore eyes really, and then those clever pink lips are on his own again and he nearly forgets she hasn't answered his question.

But then she pulls back and whispers, "Let's go home," and, well. That's all the 'yes' he needs.

"Wait a mo', marriage?" comments Mickey, as he watches the Doctor pull Rose to her feet. "Blimey. You know, when I told ya to stop being an idiot, I just meant for you to treat her better." Mickey shakes his head, his expression mock horrified, though he can't hide his grin. "You've got the shackles on now, Boss."

"Nah," the Doctor replies happily, threading his fingers with Rose's- binding himself to her in the simplest of ways, as he'd done from the start. "Don't think I've ever felt so free."


End file.
